


throw your thoughts away

by perixinkle



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Angst, Depression, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gaslighting, I WONT BE ABLE TO WRITE ANYTHING ELSE I HATE MYSELF, ITS THE SAME THING, M/M, WOW ANOTHER VENT FIC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-02-01 06:25:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12699213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perixinkle/pseuds/perixinkle
Summary: summary:somebody said that i'm a fuckin' slumdon’t know that i belongmaybe you’re fucking dumbmaybe i'm just a bummaybe you’re fucking scumaka: "rick c-137 was evil mortys last real rick" instead of "rick c-137 is evil morty's first rick"aka:  me continuing to vent like a lil bitch





	throw your thoughts away

**Author's Note:**

> morty in this is evil morty, 'morty' is rick's morty

He was taught at the Citadel he was worth barely anything, if not nothing. That if he did something wrong or pissed a Rick off too much, that Rick could just portal off and find himself a new model. He slowly learnt that as his own counterparts at the Citadel would utter those words, sadness in their eyes. Sometimes Ricks would angrily remind him, too. Those were the words that were drilled into his brain, his conscience, his beliefs. It made Morty's heart ache with pain, and it also made him sit at the very edge of the highest floor of multiple buildings. He jumped once, but his Rick during that time managed to save him. That Rick scowled at him and didn't let him go on adventures for weeks.

Morty didn't know why it frustrated him so much. He didn't know why his mind kept changing between staying alive because he believed in the feeble universe, only his life mattered, and wanting to die because he didn't matter because there were always infinite versions of him.

But then one day, all of that changed, when Rick C-137 showed up. He remembers meeting him clearly, remembers the slight blemishes of his face, and little imperfections that set him apart from other Ricks. He remembers the way he strode around the house, his eyes that could cleverly mask most emotions and the way he'd talk.

Rick promised him to break him out of the prison that was his life. Morty didn't get it the time he said it, but in a way, he was right. Rick made him feel alive, made his blood run with adrenaline as they ran from furious aliens, Rick ending the adventure decently Morty beaming with euphoria and happiness as Rick would praise him for being so smart, so amazing. Rick nearly gave him heart attacks, remembering the other kind of adrenaline, the kind that made his heart hammer against his chest hard enough that it was the only thing he could hear apart from his laboured breathing as they hid from authorities, an alien weapon held in his trembling hand.

Rick made him feel emotions, the ones that Morty thought his brain buried away when his toddler self saw his real, original parents die right in front of him, their bodies bleeding all over Morty's young, traumatized guilty heart. Rick washed all that blood away with his warmth that radiated from his hands, and all of the things that was him, that was Rick.

He loved Rick, and he was pretty goddamn sure Rick loved him back.

Oh yeah, he thought wrong, so fucking wrong. Gradually, Morty could feel Rick losing something, whether it was interest, passion, warmth. Morty didn't want to lose Rick, but even if he was there, even if he still got dragged off to go on adventures with Rick, Morty could feel Rick faltering. Adventures became dull and monotone, just them going over the motions. He noticed how Rick talked to him less, how his voice didn't have that slight bounce to it, how he'd gulp down shots more than he'd talk, how he spent more days wasted than tipsy.

He noticed it in how they fucked, too. Rick would bend Morty over the bed and hammer into him, dirty words falling flat, little gasps and groans coming from Rick. It made Morty, who moaned like a bitch in heat, feel more filthy than amazing, feel more broken than loved.

He hated it.

Sex with Rick usually made him come alive, just like on with his adventures, but this time the adrenaline mixed with lust, pleasure and desire made his back arch into Ricks' hands that would caress every inch of his body like he couldn't get enough. Rick would tell him how a good boy he was, or a filthy little slut, depending on the mood. It didn't really matter to Morty. All he wanted was him to feel good, for Rick to feel good like he was, for Rick to see stars in his eyes and completely lose it, making the world only the two of them and their pleasure, bodies molding together.

But it didn't feel like that anymore. It wasn't like that anymore. Rick would sit up and leave Morty cold and alone in his filth, whereas Rick used to appreciate the hazy afterglow with Morty, cuddling up to him, telling him little stories, sometimes singing to him.

Ricks' singing voice. It wasn't good for lullabies. He didn't mind it when Rick sang lullabies for him, though. When he was younger, or older, and Morty would be haunted by his nightmares, Rick would lie next to him and sang lullabies as soft as he could. Morty always woke up with Rick next to him, snoring loudly. Ricks' singing voice was more for rock music and epic guitar solos, "or something". Morty wasn't really into music like that. He remembered how Rick would tell him stories of his days in The Flesh Curtains, remembered him laughing as Morty would glower in jealousy when Rick would talk about quick fucks backstage. He remembered the words Rick said, almost identical as the last time he said it, and every time he did, Morty could feel himself shine, feel a shiver run through him.

"You know I'm always yours, baby."

The thing about remembering Rick was that Morty would feel conflicted every second he continued thinking about him. He felt disgusted, angry, sad and in love all at once. Before he could stop himself, another memory crashed into him, consuming his mind.

They were in another place Morty didn't want to get fixated on or attached to since he was certain they'd have to run away to another dimension or another planet again. It was a large half-circle on the planets' grass, neon blue and purple vines entertwining to make as acceptable shelter for the two. They've been here for about two months, and Morty never got used to the light the vines emitted, being blinded every time he woke up.

Morty kept his feet firmly planted on the grass as Rick was walking around, looking for something that apparently Morty was to have in his pocket, but didn't.

"Rick, you didn't tell me to do that!"

"I did, Morty. I-I remember it vee*urrrp*eerrry clearly."

"But you didn't--"

"Stop lying, Morty."

"I never heard you--"

"Morty, shut-- shut up. You're acting batshit crazy, i-it's not like I accused you of murder. It's just a th*urrrp*ing I need, but I can always get another one. You- you always thought of that?"

"Well, you never told me, I assumed it was--"

"A loootta people die from assumptions, Morty. I should've known you were stupid eno*urrrp*ugh."

Morty felt his heart break. Rick never called him stupid. It was.. stupid, to get all worked up about it, but Rick never called him stupid. He knew how Ricks treated other Mortys, so Morty figured Rick was just one of the nicer ones. This memory always made his heart break the same way.

Somtimes Morty would start questioning himself, doubting himself and Rick like 'the little fucker he was', and before he could stop himself, he'd blurt it out.

They'd be strolling peacefully across space, stars twinkling, in Rick's ship, and Morty would just quietly ask..

"Rick, are you really my Rick?"

Rick instantly stopped the ship, the sudden halt making the ship and everything in it shake. Morty regretted asking it the second Rick looked at him, feeling his glare bore into him from the side, and Morty could only look at the endless void infront of him.

"Of course I am, y-you dipshit. Don't trust me, huh Morty?"

"Of- of course I trust you Rick, it-it's just.." Morty didn't have a speech impediment the same as his counterparts did. The fact that he was stuttering out of nervousness just made it worse. He wasn't supposed to be scared of Rick.

"Just what, Morty?" he taunted, words laced with poison.

"Ne-nevermi--"

"No, tell me love."

Morty didn't know if he meant it or not, but it took his breath away, made him feel better despite Rick's gaze burning into him.

"It's-- it's just that you've been acting different these- these past few months and.."  
  
Rick suddenly laughed bitterly.

"No, Morty, I haven't. Are you- are you going crazy now? Making up random shit? Beca*urrrp*se I've been acting the same as always. Come on, Morty. Was it that Roy game?"

Morty looked down on his lap, seeing his hands curl and uncurl into small fists. Uncertainity fogged his mind and perception. Shoving his doubt away and replacing it with the comfort that Rick was right 98% of the time, he nodded wearily.

"Alright then, kiddo." Rick put a hand on Morty's shoulder, only gripping harder when he felt Morty flinch. "Let's go get some- some ice cream, yeah?"

Morty nodded again.

The scary thing about Rick was unpredictability. Morty would be doing something on his own, Rick would walk into his room, and Morty would be brimming with questions about what Rick would do, but Morty knew better and just waited it out. Rick would either insult him, drag him to another adventure, hit him, fuck him, make love to him, cuddle him, sometimes while tipsy, sometimes while full-on wasted drunk. Morty was never right in his guesses.

He was never right in anything, and slowly he began to depend on Rick with everything.

He knew what Rick did to him, knew his tactics that slowly slithered into his mind, gripping his brain tightly and making themselves at home. He was perfectly aware of the cycle they had that made Morty's heart weak and exhausted with the constant changes of breaking and being bandaged by Rick again. Even if he was, he always fell for it, fell for Rick and his sweet words that matched Rick's actions. He didn't know if Rick meant it anymore, or if he really was overreacting and he was just trying to make Rick more of an asshole than he already was, but Morty always pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind. Much like the rest of his thoughts.

Morty used to be able to hold a laser gun with confidence, adrenaline the cause of his hands shaking. Now, Morty doubted his every move, doubted how to pull the trigger, scared he'll do it wrong and Rick would nag him off about being a useless piece of shit.

And he was right.

It was the same thing he was taught at the Citadel but this time it hurt more. It felt more personal. Intoxicating, outright dangerous love wound itself into the branches. Morty Smith was in love with his grandpa, and he wanted to please him, to impress him, but he was always never enough, no matter how hard he tried. He was attached. He couldn't imagine being able to handle himself if Rick decided to portal away and never come back, couldn't imagine him with another Morty without crying, so he tried his best to be the best for Rick.

Of course he failed. Rick never came back, no trace of a goodbye. It was during one of their arguments, the bad ones where'd they be full-on shouting at each other. The memory for Morty was blurred and their shouting was barely a murmur. He didn't mind, it was the memory that Morty fought hard to forget, washing it down with booze. He reminded himself of Rick when he drank. That fact alone made him drink more, made him wait until he was swaying along with the quiet world around him, made him wait until he wasn't able to think.

The more he drank, the more he became a cold, unfeeling ghost. He didn't really mind, though. His past that usually haunted him where ever he'd go went away just as long as he was drunk enough, as long as he was distracted enough. It made him focus on finding Rick instead of waiting for him to come back.

In a way, he became just like Rick. He'd never admit it openly, but the resemblance and how his footsteps would echo Rick's imaginary ones, made him shiver with pride, but also in disgust as he turned into the man he hated and caused more misery in his life.

But he also loved Rick, loved how he made him feel so alive, loved how he was the one that lit up a fire in Morty's heart. The fire never got put out. Instead, it turned into something else, the need for him to rule, to dominate. He was forever thankful for Rick. Whenever his previous Ricks left, he felt worthless and waited for a different Rick to come and leave again. This time, the additional feelings and all the voices in his head made him want to burst, made him want to destroy. He just snapped and all the questions and fears and doubts went quiet. He was tired of feeling like this. He wanted to be different, his life wasn't supposed to revolve around Rick. No Morty deserved to feel the way he felt now. He was going to set them free.

He killed Rick after Rick, comforted Morty after Morty, even convincing some of them to be his little sidekick, his assistant. This both broke his heart and made him gleeful. He wasn't the only Morty treated like shit, and it only made him want to destroy Ricks more. He fooled multiple Ricks, remembering himself acting as a Morty prostitute of some sort, cringing before stabbing them in the chest. He remembers his team setting up an event for Ricks only to blow up the place the event was held in. He fooled an entire Citadel, made him president, only for him to turn his back on Ricks and eliminate nearly all of them. He lived his life believing he was the idiot, but he managed to fool thousands of versions of the smartest man in the multiverse. It made him feel giddy every time.

Morty was brought back into his senses as a meteor crashed near them, small rocks finding its way through the broken windows and into the perfect dip of his collarbone. He merely brushed it off, his lips stretched into a grin from the previous memory. Apart from that, entire body was still, unlike the world in complete chaos around them, gun aimed at Rick's forehead. His hands didn't shake.

After years of looking for Rick, he finally found him. Rick was bound tightly on a chair, his gaze watching Morty like a predator with prey, but his eyes were soft, almost pleading. 'His Morty' was crying, his body wriggling making his chains clink loudly. This Morty was the last Morty he was going to set free, having saved the best for last. He ignored 'Morty's weak protests, ignored the clench in his heart when he thought of Rick spending time with this imposter Morty, and focused on Rick. He made his mind up, and he was here now, with the Citadel destroyed, the cause of this whole thing right in front of him.

Memories shot through Morty once more. Rick finally spoke up, his voice quiet against the roaring catastrophe around them. It was like they were the only two people in the world. As debris fell around them, maybe they were.

"You don't have to do this, love." There he goes with that nickname again. It felt bittersweet to Morty's ears, but he kept his aim, not letting his guard down. He was genuinely surprised when tears started flowing out of Ricks' eyes.

Half of him wanted to laugh sadistically at the man who made him feel so broken, crying. He supposes he felt powerless like he did before in Ricks' presence. The other half wanted to set him free and hug him, apologize with tears that would stain Ricks' shirt, but he knew that Rick would break him and leave again.

"Yes, I do."

Morty knew the only important lesson Rick has taught him was to shove your feelings away.

So he did.

Without a trace of hesitation, he pulled the trigger.

**Author's Note:**

> slightly connected to my other fic "confusing" ahhaha
> 
> hope you enjoyed reading ♡


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